


Southerly

by yabamena



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yabamena/pseuds/yabamena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand-saw.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Southerly

Zeke stares up at the cracked plaster of his bedroom ceiling and thinks it’s been some fucking afternoon.

He can’t think of a fitting adjective; ‘weird’ doesn’t quite fit and ‘interesting’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, so he sticks with ‘some’ and ‘fucking’ and saves himself the trouble of coming up with something to shove between the two. And he realizes belatedly that the phrasing couldn’t have been any more accurate.

Zeke thinks about destiny and cosmic timing, the nature of coincidences and how they like to spiral out into a cyclone of events and choices, sucking a person in before they have a clue what’s happening.

Zeke thinks he can hear kismet laughing its fucking ass off, and he smiles at nothing in particular because he can’t help but appreciate its sense of humor.

 

Delilah dumps Casey the same day Zeke quits the football team.

They meet purely by accident on the bleachers after school, seated four rows apart and silent as they watch the track team warm up, content to ignore each other’s existence.

Until Casey speaks, the request for a cigarette surprising Zeke more than the sound of his voice. He offers one up, forcing proximity, and with it, conversation.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” A statement offered as casually as the cigarette he reaches over to light without asking.

“I didn’t know you played football.” The retort is quick, honest and completely without malice. Just Casey.

“Not anymore.”

And simple as that, they’re talking about their recent break ups, Casey’s with the head cheerleader, Zeke’s with organized sports. They agree that both required more attention than either was truly interested in giving. They share their somewhat warped relief that they’ll soon slip back into the comfort of their ‘Before’ roles at Herrington High, though Casey confesses he’s not quite looking forward to the beatings.

Zeke, with the calm offhand assurance of someone who has done it before and who can damn well do it again, promises to remove the limbs of anyone who lays a hand on Casey.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Before it becomes uncomfortable Zeke breaks it with an offer to drive Casey home.

Halfway between the bleachers and the parking lot, Casey brushes against him as they walk and the offer changes to one of pizza and a movie at Zeke’s place.

The look Casey gives him is all wide blue eyes, which is no answer at all, but he’s already slipping into the passenger seat and he didn’t say ‘no’. Zeke drives way too fast on the way to his house, the engine of the restored GTO roaring like the blood in his veins. This is nothing new.

What is new is the way Casey pushes him back against the wall and leans up to kiss Zeke just as he finishes locking the front door.

His kiss is eager and sweet and unexpectedly provocative. Still just Casey.

It’s a wonder they even make it to Zeke’s bedroom.

 

Zeke thinks, the bedroom but not the bed.

He considers it a job well done.

They are lying side by side on the floor of Zeke’s room, Casey facedown and unconscious, his usually neat button down shirt shoved up beneath his armpits. He is naked from the waist down, his shoes, socks, khakis and underwear scattered between the front hall and Zeke’s bedroom.

Lying face up and wide-awake, Zeke is still fully clothed, though his jeans and boxers are shoved down around his knees. The hard, narrow cylinder of a highlighter presses into his back while the sharp corner of a CD case leaves its impression on his ass. He doesn’t shift into a more comfortable position. His bones have to solidify themselves again before he can even think of moving, just basic physiology right there.

So Zeke doesn’t think of moving.

Zeke thinks of Casey instead, and the rug burn he’ll have on his knees later. He thinks of the way Casey moved beneath him, hands scrabbling at dusty carpet as he made those sounds in the back of his throat, taking it as Zeke pounded the hell out of his ass and then demanding more. Not asked, not begged, demanded, no sign of unease or self-consciousness, and Zeke wonders who taught Casey to be not-nervous.

No. No, Zeke doesn’t think about that because that’s a buzz killer for sure and he doesn’t really want to know. Back to safer—hmm, maybe not so much—territory, back to Casey.

Zeke knows Casey’s a sophomore, but he doesn’t know when his birthday is. If he was born in November or December—hell, if he was skipped a grade because he was too damn smart for his own good—Zeke could be facing some serious legal issues. And shit. Shit, if that doesn’t give him the dirtiest little thrill.

Zeke thinks he must have been thinking too loud, or maybe he made some kind of sound at that last thought because Casey is stirring beside him. His head comes up, brown hair sticking out at odd angles, those impossible blues eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded, and Zeke imagines him some kind of geeky sex kitten.

Zeke thinks he can definitely get used to this.


End file.
